


One More

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shot flies wrong off his fingers, bouncing against the backboard and clattering on the rim before falling lifeless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More

Tatsuya never would have chosen anyone other than Wei to be his vice-captain. It wasn’t his choice to make, anyway, and he’d been surprised that Wei hadn’t been named captain in the first place—but good captains don’t necessarily make good vice-captains. Wei would be good at both.

He’s got the kids all in rapt attention, telling them what they specifically need to work on—bluntly, still grumpy like it’s four in the morning and he’s been woken up by a thunderstorm, but it’s a testament to his ability that they’re listening that closely anyway. He doles praises out with an eye dropper, and most of the younger kids clamor for them like prizes. Tatsuya looks back at his clipboard, his own practice schedule hastily scrawled in the corner next to a few plays he’d talked over with Coach. He looks back at Wei, wiping the warmup sweat from his face with the hem of his t-shirt, toned abs just visible—

“You’d better not be thinking something gross.”

Atsushi peers over the top of the clipboard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Tatsuya.

Atsushi rolls his eyes, and Tatsuya looks back at Wei—but this time Wei’s looking at him, too. He gives Tatsuya a nod and jogs over and, okay, they’re probably pretty obvious. But they’ve gotten from actual secret to open secret pretty well, and so as long as they keep it like this it’s fine (and it won’t hurt Atsushi to see them flirting every once in a while).

Atsushi wrinkles his nose at Wei, and Wei glares at him. Tatsuya sighs—they’re both nearing seven feet, and while that’s great for the team it makes him feel awfully insignificant standing between them like this. Atsushi stalks off to go do more drills, and Wei claps Tatsuya on the shoulder.

“How’s it going?”

“All right,” says Tatsuya, tilting the clipboard over.

Wei squints and pulls it up close to his face.

“You need to update your contacts,” says Tatsuya.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Wei.

Tatsuya pulls the clipboard back and Wei bends over, cheek nearly touching Tatsuya’s shoulder.

“You’re doing a new dribble?”

“If there’s time,” says Tatsuya (he hadn’t meant to keep that written in the corner; he’d remember it anyway and right now is valuable team practice time, time he needs to spend working on passes and observing his teammates).

Wei shrugs, and several feet away Coach blows her whistle.

“Well,” says Tatsuya.

“Well,” says Wei (his hand is still on Tatsuya’s shoulder, and he makes no effort to remove it).

* * *

He doesn’t want to be overly optimistic, but the dribble’s getting better. The ball slides in and out of focus between his legs, landing in his waiting hand—he shouldn’t be looking; it’s the worst habit but how is he going to know if it’s disappearing if he doesn’t look? He holds his head up, dribbling down and faking past invisible defenders until he hits the layup. It’s the same technique as that shot, albeit a little bit rusty at this point.

“Need me to look for something?”

It’s Wei, fresh from the shower, hair still dripping with water, sleeves rolled up and tie lying undone around his neck. His loafers squeak against the floor.

“Go. You need your rest.”

Wei looks at him pointedly, jutting out his chin. “Don’t take so long.”

Tatsuya sighs, resetting himself; he dribbles back toward the other basket. He can tell it’s not working this time and stops.

“You’ll know it if you see it.”

He rolls the ball on his fingers and turns, shooting it up toward the closer hoop. It hangs in the air and vanishes; Tatsuya’s stomach rolls. It feels fake, not his own; it feels worthless. He’d spent years working on this technique, nearly perfecting it; it had been copied in seconds effortlessly and then carelessly tossed aside, rarely used, in favor of more glamorous techniques made by more talented players. It’s no longer his own but it no longer has any life with anyone—he’s not going to think about that now; he’s just going to remember the way it feels to flick his wrists just so, the positions of his fingers against the pebbled surface. He shoots again, again; his stomach twists but he’s got it locked into his arms now, the wrists and palms and elbows; he grabs the rebound and starts again.

It doesn’t feel as obviously wrong this time; the ball still lands perfectly and he can hear the bounce against the floor and feel the vibrations absorbed by his sneakers and he’s halfway into a three-point jump shot when he remembers he’s not alone.

“It’s not there.”

The shot flies wrong off his fingers, bouncing against the backboard and clattering on the rim before falling lifeless.

“Sorry.”

Tatsuya shakes his head. “I told you you’d know it if you saw it.”

“Well, I don’t see it.”

Tatsuya snorts.

“Hey, can I guard that?”

“Not in those shoes. And it’s not ready.”

Wei sighs. “Fine.”

Tatsuya turns to catch his eye; he’s half-smiling from his position leaning on the wall. Tatsuya picks up the ball and gets into position. He’s got to capture that feeling, get the repetition into his muscle memory until he can’t willfully block it anymore, until he does it without thinking. Again he goes end-to-end, and again after that. He mixes up the shots, the trajectories, the imaginary players tracking him. He feels woozy, exhausted; he keeps going. He puts his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath; the sound of the bouncing ball stops abruptly.

“Stupid. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Wei’s holding the ball on his shoulder, out of reach; Tatsuya knows there’s no way he can jump for it.

“One more?”

Wei looks at him. “Hell no. I’m not going to carry you back.”

“That so?” Tatsuya manages.

Still, Wei pulls him close as they walk to the locker room, almost forcing him to lean his weight on Wei’s side (and Wei ignores all of Tatsuya’s protests about sweat on his clean clothes) and, okay, he’s pretty exhausted. And it’s late enough and cold enough that he’ll let Wei do the same on the walk back to the dorm, but those are the only reasons he’ll admit.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this makes sense to people other than me lmao


End file.
